Wednesday, June 04, 2003

It's time for another hiatus after Friday. Coming up in July will be the one-year anniversary of this blog. By then, I anticipate having things well in hand.

In the meantime, here are some things you should do:

1. Work, if you have a job. Some.
2. Play outside, especially on the swings. Swings are great.
3. Eat more fruits and veggies. I mean forchrissakes it's SUMMER and they're in season, even up here.
4. Go swimming, or get wet in some way.
5. Be a perv. I'm a pervert, he's a pervert, she's a pervert, wouldn't you like to be a pervert too?
6. Read other blogs when you're forced inside by weather.
7. Read some actual paper books too.
8. Get some sun. Just a little, not to the point of lobsterfying yourself.
9. Take a road trip.
10. Optional.

Tuesday, June 03, 2003

GOLD STAR

I have officially disturbed someone to the point of not being able to read this blog anymore, or at least to take their link to me down and post about it. She didn't mention me by link or name, so I won't mention her either, except that it is indeed a her. She. Whatever.

She says my epistles make for good (nay, GREAT) reading, but poor net interaction. I know which ones she's talking about, and you know what? That's just how it goes for some of us. My thoughts are deep and tangled.

For clarification, for said reader who isn't reading anymore: The freak-out was a combination of bad brain chemistry and work stress. My ex provokes me. People provoke me. I don't know if I've given this image of being serene and aloof, but that is sure as hell not the case. On further consideration, I'm more akin to a Maenad than a Muse. I get drunk sometimes, I go into frenzied spells of sensory indulgence (and I'm not just talking about food and sex here; I'm talking wind, rain, lightening and sun), and ever since Josh gave me the word saudade, I carry that with me too. I'd quote Whitman, but I fear it's been done too often.

I haven't even mentioned the deity pr0n. Or the fact that Morgan may very well be The Flash, given the circumstances surrounding her creation.

Maybe I should be writing a novel after all.

CONSIDER YOUR BONE THROWN

Okay, here's some happy sweetness and light for good web interaction: I took a look around my place today and realized that damn, I have a lot of cool shit. I mean, forget about the 50 billion plants and nearly fully stocked kitchen (FIVE different kinds of tea!) and medical books and field guides and whatnot...I have a wasp nest, a broken geode, a heron feather, a hawk feather, about 20 half-burned candles (all scented), shells, rocks, toss-away bouquets of silk flowers...and in the bathroom I have about 70,000 different kinds of lotion, perfume, bath gels, soaps, lipsticks and assorted girly things that are no damn good for the world's problems but good enough for me. I have them. I could toss them all out at a moment's notice, but I have them now. And it is good.

I got a spam email with the subject line of "study for a new career at home." Out of curiosity, I clicked on it, and lo and behold, it's a cam whore site.

I wonder how exactly one would study for a career as a cam whore. I guess you'd need classes on site design, equipment, marketing, cinematography...but somehow I really doubt it.

From what I hear, you can't really make a career out of cam whoring, anyway. From what I hear, that is. From what I hear, it's one of those things, like stripping, that is much cooler after you've stopped doing it. From what I hear, when you're up at midnight, 1:00 am, 2:00 am, and so on acting the fool in front of a webcam, your REAL job might suffer a little. And that's good for nothing but a fight, because while your lazy boyfriend is jacking the system for SSDI, he's demanding that you "go on tonight and scare up some extra cash..." Um. Yeah. So I hear.

...

This isn't to say that there might not be some at least marginally intelligent cam whores out there. Not at all. The smarter ones know when to call it quits and live a real life.

Have the geese had been planning this all along? There appears to be another mass migration underway. Maybe all the ones with goslings thought all the ones without goslings needed to move on.

Odd to have the hazy blue of a nearly-summer sky mixed with the spring/fall sound of geese.

I'm going to the marsh today to see what this is all about. Maybe one of the mallards will tell me.

AGE

I have four days left of being 28. Big fucking deal. I think the next "magic" age is going to be 40. I've heard that 30 isn't a big deal, nothing about which to get my knickers in a twist. I mean, okay, so. 30. So what? I'm not even there yet. Maybe I'll just skip a year and be 30 this Friday instead. No one will be the wiser.

I must look the part, because nobody cards me anymore.

At the stores where I buy my libations and smokables, no one thinks to wonder, "Hey, is she over 21?" I almost never have Mo with me at those times, but even if I did, anyone with a 6-year-old kid, even if she did give birth at age 15, would old enough for all of life's dangerous pleasures - even porn and sex toys. They're supposed to card everyone who looks under 30. So what is it? Is it the air of utmost adult confidence I exude? No. Probably not, because there isn't one. Is the the riffling through any number of credit cards that gives me away? It certainly can't be my appearance. Most days I'm dressed like a hybrid mom-who's-too-busy/college-kid-who-doesn't-care, with a bare minimum of makeup which is sometimes none at all. Is it the incipient laugh lines around my eyes? Odd combination with still-baby-fatted cheeks. Heh, combine dislike of chemical sunscreen with occasional tobacco-squint with a torrid affair with the sun every summer and I'm headed for wrinkleville on a bullet train.

What was I talking about? Oh yes.

Yeah, so, I think I'll skip 29 instead of recycling it. On Friday, should you so choose, wish me a happy 3-0 instead of 2-9, and I'll do it again next year.

Sunday, June 01, 2003

TONIGHT ON 'MY MAMA SAYS...'

Don't watch TV while you eat. If mom finishes before you, she can turn on the TV. You don't get to watch until you're done. If you turn around from table at dinner and watch TV, you'll be reprimanded. If you do it again, one more warning. A third time, and you go straight to bed after your bath, with no TV at all. Doesn't matter that it's still broad daylight. Rules are rules.

Okay, you've been warned. Now get in the tub, and it's bedtime right afterwards.

...half an hour elapses...

MORGAN!!! Unlock this bathroom door RIGHT NOW!

...'kay...

All right, NOW you've done it. Get back in the tub. I need to wash my lotion, my EXPENSIVE lotion of which you probably wasted $10 worth, off of you.

...silence...

You know Morgan, it's a big deal to be allowed to give yourself a bath and be unsupervised at your age. I really thought you could handle washing up and brushing your teeth on your own. I guess not. Now everything in the bathroom except the toilet, your toothbrush and your toothpaste is off limits. Understand? You've lost lotion, perfume and lipgloss priveleges. You're supposed to ASK me, anyway. After the TV incident, you'd think my telling you these things would have sunk in. If you can't handle your own personal hygiene, how can I expect you to be able to handle international travel?